


Trippin' On a Hole in a Paper Heart (One More Trip and I'll Be Gone)

by Sokudoningyou



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Geronimo Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokudoningyou/pseuds/Sokudoningyou
Summary: Tony Mallard loved Gosalyn Mallard of the Prime universe, but very much wanted to find the Gosalyn of his world.   That was the way of the multiverse: always a Darkwing Duck, a Negaduck, and a Gosalyn to complete them.So where was his?





	Trippin' On a Hole in a Paper Heart (One More Trip and I'll Be Gone)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Living On A Prayer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300721) by [RebellingStagnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/pseuds/RebellingStagnation). 



> Inspired by RebellingStagnation's Geronimo universe, specifically events that begin in "Living on a Prayer." I wanted to know if Tony Mallard ever found his Gosalyn, and, well, twenty pages (!) in Google Docs later, here we are. This is the longest thing I've written in years that hasn't been a college paper. 
> 
> Title is from the Stone Temple Pilot's song; Scott Weiland apparently said it reflected his "hunger for redemption." It will make sense in the end, I hope.

There was still no Gosalyn in this universe.

Well. That wasn’t  _ exactly _ true; there was just no sight of her.  Despite what Tony Mallard – billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist – had figured, he still had yet to find the version of Gosalyn that existed in his world.  And while he had no problem at all continuing to adore and love the spitfire young duck that visited from the Prime universe, he really thought by now he would have found a Gosalyn of his very own. Hell, they had even found their universe’s version of Darkwing, not that Tony was very  _ happy _ about that, not that he would openly admit that he disliked Launchpad’s bestest friend from beyond the grave.  It was all a very big tangle of feelings and annoying thoughts of his father’s constant memorializing of both Launchpad and Drake and he really hated thinking about it very much.

So he didn’t.  He really, really tried not to.  Every time he saw Drakey in the tower he tended to do his very best to either ignore him outright, speak as little as possible, or simply walk (no, he wasn’t running, Tony Mallard does not run from emotions  _ thank you very much _ ) away to his workshop to blast AC/DC and do some welding.  Launchpad wasn’t stupid; he could see there was tension between Tony and Drakey, but so far, he’d mostly kept silent.  Probably because he was just happy to have Drakey back and alive, even if he constantly stomped around like an 80’s goth victim, glaring at everyone who wasn’t named Launchpad Rogers, skulking in the shadows, and looking unfairly muscled and bad ass.  The shiny metal arm didn’t help; Tony was constantly caught between hating the sight of it, and wanting desperately to take it apart, figure out how it worked, and then make it work even better. He knew doing the latter would get him a punch in the beak from said metal hand, which,  _ totally _ worth it, but he knew Rogers would just give him one of those looks of his, and he’d be shamed into leaving Drakey alone. 

Thankfully though, today was a quiet day in the tower.   Megavolt was doing his “roaming the world tree” thing, still holding out hope that his adopted sister Isis Leifsdottir wasn’t truly dead, and fighting the enemies of Asrodentia while travelling. Cap and Drakey didn’t actually live in the tower anymore, having found a house in the most boring residential area of the city, so Tony only saw them during missions and the immediate aftermath these days.  Black Jack was doing…..whatever it was Jack did on his off days. Possibly skinning his enemies in a warehouse somewhere, Tony didn’t really want to speculate. How Jack and Bud got along so well was an eternal mystery considering Jack was a creepy assassin who sized up everyone for body bags upon first meetings, and Bud was a perky, watery (now former) S.H.U.S.H. agent who was  _ not _ a creepy assassin.   But, Tony knew, wherever Jack was, Barton likely was as well, so both of them were out of the tower.  Banner was at a yoga class because the big guy stayed quiet as long as Banner stayed calm, so he continued to go to the yuppiest of yuppie yoga classes downtown.  Tony thought it was hilarious; he’d even gone on a credit card spree one night buying Banner tons of stretchy purple yoga pants. 

(Banner claimed he had not been amused, but Tony knew he totally was.  He just didn't like to show it. )

So for once, in a very long, long,  _ long _ time, it was just Tony and MORGANA in the tower, just like it used to be.  It was simultaneously too quiet and not loud enough; blasting his music and working on new suits was only taking up most of his attention, but not all of it.  He would never admit it out loud, but he was getting too used to having company now. He was getting used to hearing Megavolt’s booming voice out in the living room, commenting on whatever movie Barton had tricked him into watching.  Used to having Jack sneak up on him and peek at his inventions, criticizing his choice of weapons. Not really used to having Barton slither through the vents and drip on him, but clearly he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. 

Damn, he was getting soft and squishy in his old age, and wasn’t that something.  When Gosalyn had first arrived in his universe and explained everything to him, he had gotten a kick out of the idea of two opposing forces; a Negaduck and Darkwing Duck, as she so simply put it.   It had been obvious to her from the beginning that, despite being a hero, he was clearly the Negaduck of his universe; chaos and disorder directed, to her surprise, into heroism by way of his ego. After meeting Negaduck himself, he could see why she was surprised at that, considering the duck she was so familiar with was screamingly villainous and refused to consider himself even the least bit heroic. But one thing Tony would never consider was either of them getting old; it just seemed so….pathetic. Slowing down, becoming normal?  They’d both run howling into Hell instead of lying down and letting go. 

“Sir.”

The kicker had been seeing Darkwing, knowing he was Gosalyn’s father, and realizing he had seen that very same beak and blue eyes narrowed at him in suspicion not an hour before they’d met. Drakey Barnes had been born over seventy years ago, but somehow, circumstances had brought him to the same time as his counterparts. And if you squinted and ignored the metal arm, Drakey and Darkwing were twins down to the scowls on their beaks.  Yet somehow Tony could tolerate Darkwing a hell of a lot more than he could Drakey; maybe it was because Darkwing clearly had a sense of humour and loved his daughter.

“Sir, the alarm is going off.”

“What?  MORGANA, did you say something?”

His music cut off mid-scream, and Tony almost flinched at the sudden loss of noise.  He glanced over at his table where a hologram now hovered in mid-air, showing a zoomed in chunk of map of the city, where a moving red dot glowed.  “Well, damn. MORG, I’m heading out.”

 

 

Tony’s universe had a rather unique group of people populating it. J. Gander Fury had started the Duckvengers Initiative because, as he said, he knew he time would come when they would need superheroes. Unspoken was the fact that having that idea suggested that there would  _ be _ superheroes to begin with, which meant that the current Duckvengers were not the only ones out there with abilities above normal people. After S.H.U.S.H. had cleaned house and Fury had gone underground, Tony had decided to take over the search for heroes. Not entirely out of a sense of altruism; he wanted to be able to spread the work around a bit. Take a day off now and again. And, well, it made sense; Megavolt wasn’t of Earth, so there was no telling if he would come when called, Black Jack was squishy, and Barton was easier to take down than one would think considering he was made out of water.  Launchpad would work himself ragged if no one stopped him, Barnes wasn’t allowed to actually fight because he was still a messed-up assassin, and Banner was a “for emergencies only” ace in the hole fighter. They needed more people to help pick up the slack.

It was only a few months ago that his monitoring system actually started to pick up movement. One he had already checked out and dismissed; a scrawny duck named Fenton who was apparently blind, but sort of not, and who knew kung fu. He was even less of a team player than Tony was, and also another squishy duck who Tony didn’t want to be responsible for when he got splattered. The second was the dot Tony was currently flying out to find, although this one had been a tricky little bugger, evading his drones or destroying them with what looked like spider webs. This time, Tony was going to fly out on his own, and whoever it was wasn’t going to get away.

The only problem was that the Iron Duck suit was really, really suuuuper conspicuous.  Flying high enough to avoid the yelling and picture taking, but low enough to avoid detection, was tricky.  He did have stealth mode on his suit, but so had his drones; he turned it on anyway, but kept his eyes peeled.  “MORGANA, we still on their trail?”

“Yes, Tony. Subject is moving north in a pattern that suggests arial.”

“So they’re either a flier or…well, that’s really all they could be, right?  Maybe they’re super geniuses too and made a suit of their own, which would be awesome.  More science bros!”

“Or perhaps science sister,” MORGANA said blandly.  Tony rolled his eyes.

“Fine, but it breaks up the groove.” 

Movement; a flash of pink and white. “MORGANA, do we have better visuals?  Give me something to work with!” Tony barked, banking left sharply to follow the streak of color.  Three drones detached from his suit and flew ahead, catching up quicker than Tony could to the slim figure swinging between the buildings. And they were definitely swinging on what looked to be a silken thread; the dastardly spiderwebs that had taken down his other drones.

Three pictures in picture screens popped up in his view: it was a young duck wearing a black, white, and pink leotard suit and jacket. A hood covered her head and face, with blue ballet shoes on her feet.  He couldn’t see her eyes as she turned her head to track one of his drones, but he could tell she wasn’t very happy by the way she suddenly flung out her arm, hitting it with a web. 

“Come on now, I have to keep fixing those! MORG, give me a boost, will you?  This kid’s fast!” 

“Certainly, sir.  I would suggest coming around the building on her left and cutting her off before she reaches the Second National Bank building.” 

“What would I do without you, MORG?”

“I hesitate to wonder, sir.”

The kid looked up as he came up beside her, flicking her hand out at him, but he held up his own metal hand, catching the web. “Come on, kid, I just want to talk to you, not fight,” he sighed, blocking her second shot.

Instead, she flipped her body up and over him, both hands snapping out to wrap him in webs faster than he could blink.  His arms and legs were pinioned and he squawked (“MORG, you better delete that!”), dropping briefly in altitude in his shock. She was damned quick!  

“Damn it!  MORGANA, I need you to get this crap off of me!”

“The previous analysis of these webs suggests laser cutting would be the quickest, sir.” 

He could see the kid swinging away, clearly assuming she was free.  Cursing, he snapped "MORGANA, activate laser show, electric boogaloo," and kicked on his thrusters to rise above the skyline.  The lasers activated as a sparkling net of light around his suit, slicing the webs off. Catching a scrap in his hand, he slipped it into one of his arm compartments as he said," Okay, MORGANA, give me a sitrep; where's the kid?" 

"The young woman presumably in question appears to be heading for the Audubon Bay Bridge, sir." 

"Of course she is," he muttered.  Louder, he asked, “did the drones do their job this time, or is it going to be another wild goose chase next time she pops up?”

“The tracker was successfully attached to her hood, sir.  Do you want to pull up its signal?”

“Not this time.  Let’s head back; I have a craving for pizza, and an idea for a new feature on my suit.”  He had probably given her a scare, dropping out of the sky as he had; whoever this spider-themed hero was, he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot.

  
  


 

Days passed. The Duckvengers assembled to fight Doctor Doomslug, dealing with his slimy, mucusy Slugbots as they trailed through Duckburg wreaking havoc.  Tony always hated dealing with Doomslug; the mucus got _everywhere_. This time, Cap was thrown so hard into McDuck’s money bin that he actually ended up in the hospital with a concussion, broken ribs, and a broken arm.  All in all, it had not been one of their better fights, especially once it became obvious that while they had stopped Doomslug from actually destroying the city, they hadn’t stopped him from escaping; they had captured one of his decoys.  

“Great job, team, let’s do this again never,” Tony groaned as he stepped out of his armor at the tower, collapsing onto the couch.  

Banner only shook his head,taking a seat across from Tony.  “I’m just glad I didn’t have to bring in the big guy. Wasn’t Doomslug supposed to be adhering to the treaty of non-aggression he signed with Calisota?”

“Since when does Doomslug follow any sort of rules that he didn’t make up himself?” Barton snarked as he swirled around Banner’s chair, splitting in half to avoid the dagger Black Jack threw at him.  

“If you care to ask him, I’ll be sure to drop you off at his castle, one way trip only.”

“Jack, you love me too much to do that without charging some sort of fee first.”

Megavolt disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to make some Pop-Tarts while Bud and Jack continued to snark at one another.  Tony rolled his eyes, wincing slightly as he smelled burnt pastry; Megavolt had learned how to run the toaster on his own, but he still didn’t have the hang of it quite yet.  It never failed to amaze Tony that Asrodentia was apparently the ur example of Clarke’s Third Law, yet their technology was also strangely backward to the point that televisions, electrical switches, and the entirety of the kitchen confused Megavolt.  On a better day, he would go in and watch the chaos, but today, Tony just felt tired. And slightly old, though he wouldn’t admit that under torture.

Thinking of that reminded him of his project; the tracker was still active, and still attached, moving at erratic times during the last few days. “You guys can stick around and take it easy until we hear about Cap,” he said, levering himself up from the couch reluctantly.  “I have a date with my workshop.”

“We get it; we’re boring you.  Somehow we’ll cope with the loss,” Barton said with a dramatic swish of his hand to his forehead before he collapsed into Tony’s spot.  Jack just rolled his eyes and proceeded to pick at his nails with another dagger.

“Please, Mallard, don’t stick around on our account.  I’m sure we can keep ourselves occupied without you,” he said blandly, shaking his head when Banner offered him the remote.  Tony huffed a sigh, waving at them as he exited stage left.

“Just don’t break the TV fighting over what game show to watch.”

 

 

“Hey, MORG, how’s our little spider doing?”

“Your ‘little spider’ appears to be at home, extrapolating from the time the tracker stopped moving, and the repetition of the location itself.”  The map flashed into being in 3D hologram glory, showing a translucent rendering of an apartment building near the outskirts of downtown. Not a glamorous place by any means, but it seemed appropriate; a nondescript building in a nondescript part of town.

“Do we have a name?  Age? Favorite breakfast cereal? Give me something to work with, MORG, you know I need data.”  He spun the hologram around, tilting it from side to side as if he could shake out a name.

“Your concern for privacy is laudable, sir,” MORGANA replied.  

“I want to invite them to the team, MORG, I need to know if they’ve got what it takes.  A mild bit of stalking is all part of the recruitment process.” 

“Certainly, sir. Not at all cause for concern.”

“Nope,” Tony responded, popping the last syllable.  “I didn’t keep the information on the last guy, I won’t keep the information on this one if they turn me down.  Give me some credit here; just because I’m nosy and want to know everything doesn’t mean it’s for evil like  _ some  _ of my counterparts.”

MORGANA didn’t reply, instead zooming in even tighter on the hologram model.  It switched to a real time feed from one of Tony’s drones, showing a slim figure in a red hoodie walking into the front door of the building.  “Perhaps you can ask her yourself.”

“Is that an invitation?  What am I supposed to do, walk right up to the door and introduce myself and say ‘Hey, I figured out you’re some sort of super hero, want to join my gang?’”

“It is no less than what you did to Mr. Crackshell, is it not?”

“Yeah, but he was adult!”

“I would suggest then that perhaps the age of this young lady would persuade you not to try recruiting her.”

Tony had considered that, honestly.  Not that he could accurately say that she was too young without hard evidence, but his gut instinct was telling him that she was definitely younger than Crackshell had been.  Which was also pretty impressive, truth be told, if she was still suiting up and fighting crime with what appeared to be ridiculously advanced long chain polymers that solidified into strong fibers. Not technically spider webs, but a close approximation of them.  If nothing else, Tony desperately wanted to know how she made them, or, if she didn’t make them, where she got them from. 

He drummed his fingers on the table, pulling up a model of the molecular chain that made up the “webs.”  Tony was impulsive to a fault, but he could still reign himself in when necessary; he had barged up on Crackshell and had paid for it when he realized the blind duck had super senses and nearly kicked him into an electrical box.  They ended up fighting for several minutes before he could convince Matt Crackshell -- who called himself the Duck Without Fear -- that he wasn’t actually his enemy. Tony didn’t relish pulling a repeat.

“I have a brilliant idea, MORG. The Stellar Mallard Scholarship for Stellar Students still needs a winning applicant, right?”

 

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer thought she was a pretty easygoing duck, all things considered. That didn’t mean her bandmates weren’t driving her insane with their nagging every time she came late to practice, even though they were technically right.  “Come on, Gos, get your head in the game!” MJ finally snapped at her, slapping her hand down on Gosalyn’s drumstick. “You’re still not in sync with the rest of us. What’s so hard about getting here on time?”

“I’ve been busy trying to find a part time job, okay?  I can’t expect dad to keep being the only one to pay the bills!”  Gosalyn wasn’t ashamed of her situation per se; her mother’s death years ago had left her and her father, Captain George Waddlemeyer of the SCPD, living lean as she grew up, but now she was old enough to lend a hand.  

Of course, what MJ and her friends didn’t know was  _ why  _ Gosalyn was having such a tough time finding a job.  Well, that wasn’t true, they  _ suspected _ , but what they thought was the truth was only part of it. And she wasn’t in a rush to tell them, or anyone.

“I’m sorry, okay?  I’m trying to do my best, and right now, it’s not enough.”  She set her drumsticks aside and dropped her head atop one of her drums; the dull thud noise muffled her sigh.  Betty huffed, tapping her fingers on the side of her bass.

“Look, Gos, we know it’s been rough.  I mean, we lost a friend too. But it’s been almost six months now!  You gotta live for yourself, not stay wallowed in misery.”

_ Oh how little you know _ , Gosalyn thought bitterly.  She grabbed her drumsticks and stood up, grabbing her hoodie.  “It’s more than that, you know. I can’t expect my dad to support us both on a cop’s salary forever, and I have college to think about, unless I want to disappoint him. I don’t know if….I don’t know if I can even stay in the band, all right?”  She tugged the hoodie on, grateful for the momentary shield against her friends’ anguished faces. Not that she wanted to brag, but her drums were pretty amazing; they would be scrambling to find someone to replace her if she left.

“Oh come on, Gos, don’t be dramatic!  Look, let’s just break for today. The gig isn’t for another week, we’ve got time to get together again for one more practice.”  MJ sounded way too chipper considering the scowl twisting her muzzle. She flipped back her red hair and stomped away to put her microphone back on the stand, ignoring Gosalyn’s snort.  

“Yeah, sure, MJ.”

MJ glared back at her as she walked towards the garage door, pushing the button to open it.  Gosalyn didn’t  _ quite  _ run the moment she could clear the opening, but it was a close call. Shoving her hands in her pocket, she ducked her head against the cool breeze and jogged towards home, alone with her very troublesome thoughts.

Thoughts of what to do for dinner, because she knew her dad was working late, and she was barely a passable cook.

Thoughts of sitting by the police scanner she had in her room, waiting for a crime to happen.

Thoughts of the day she had lost her best friend, and it was all her fault.

She knew becoming some sort of vigilante crime fighter was probably not the best way to cope with tragedy, but it was a damn good coping mechanism for her.  Even if it put her at odds with her father and the SCPD, and was the reason he was working late to begin with; trying to catch the criminal called the Ghost Spider.  (She didn’t like that name, but no one had asked her opinion.)

Digging her keys out of her pocket as she neared her building, she stopped at the sight of a pair of really, really nice shoes standing in front of the main entrance.  Slowly she lifted her head, feeling the wind sneak down her neck in a good approximation of the terror she suddenly felt seeing Tony freaking Mallard standing there, holding a briefcase.  The Iron Duck. A Duckvenger. A  _ superhero _ .  And there was no way he wasn’t there for her because he was a genius and he  _ knew _ .

What she didn’t know was what he was thinking as he stared at her, his smarmy speech about college scholarships dying on his tongue.   _ Gosalyn _ .  He’d found his Gosalyn.  And she looked achingly similar to her Prime counterpart, though her hair was cut in a soft shag around her face. Unlike her Prime counterpart, however, she was staring at him with a vaguely terrified look on her face, presumably because she didn’t expect him to be there, having obviously figured out who she was.  Shit. “Wait, wait, wait, it’s not what you think--” he started to say before she abruptly turned and started running. “Damn it, MORGANA, I didn’t even do anything this time!”

“Your mere presence may have been enough,” she replied drily as he summoned his armor from the briefcase he was holding.  

“Hardy har har.  Kid! Seriously, this isn’t what you think!”

Damn, but she was  _ fast _ . And apparently more spider-like than he realized as he watched her dart down an alley, leap up, and stick to a wall, clearly anchoring herself in anticipation of attacking him with her webs again. This time, however, he landed and immediately retracted his visor.  “Kid, seriously, I come in peace.” He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “Look, nothing up my sleeves.”

“Why should I believe you?  You’re a hero! I’m just a  _ vigilante _ ,” she sneered, arm pointed out at him. “Heroes don’t get marked for jail time by the SCPD.”

“Are you?  All I know is you’re kicking ass and taking names, which, I have to say, looks pretty bad ass to me.  And the wall crawling, and the spider webs? That is slick. You have  _ got  _ to tell me how you’re doing it.”

That seemed to take her aback.  She lowered her arm, staring at him with those green eyes he knew so well in a different duck’s face. But these eyes were not full of awareness of who he was, and who she was to him; all this Gosalyn knew of him was what she’d seen on TV. (Although he had to ask himself why she was still suspicious of him; you would think his multiple TV appearances where he would mouth off to every authority figure within range would suggest he was definitely on her side as far as the “vigilante”stuff went.) “It’s….it’s a long story,” she finally said, almost too quietly for him to hear. She released her hold on the wall and landed lightly on the balls of her feet, continuing to stare at him.  “You’re really not here to turn me over to the police?”

“Woodchuck’s Honor.”  He tapped a button on his wrist that deactivated his armor, stepping out of it as it peeled back and compacted back into the briefcase.  “Seriously, I’m here about your super heroing, but not for the reason you think. Can we talk inside? I have a thing about skulking around in alleyways during day time hours.”

That, at least, got a laugh out of her.  

 

 

“I was a student at Midtown Canard High School.  It was our junior year, and we took a field trip to St. Canard University.” Gosalyn shifted in her seat, staring into space as she spoke, absently spinning her soda can between her hands.  The kitchen table in her apartment was, in Tony’s opinion, “fun-sized” and barely big enough for the three chairs at it; he elected to stand and lean against the counter, glass of water in hand.  He took note of the smaller details: pictures of her and her father on the fridge, along with one with who he assumed was her grandfather and her mother, taken years ago and faded with age. The chip on the glass he was holding, and the small pile of dishes in the sink.  

“St. Canard University, huh? Thought about going there? I’m alumni at Calisota Institute of Technology, myself.”  

“Dad wants me to go to college, but unless a miracle happens and a scholarship falls out of the sky, I can’t afford to go.  But I’d probably go to Canardia anyway, just because it’s close.” She smiled wistfully, glancing at the fridge. “Mom was a Canardian; dad went out of state to the police academy. Grandpa won’t say it, but I think he wants me to try for CIT; he went there too.”  She sighed, playing with the tab on her can. “Anyway….went on the field trip. I dragged my best friend Honk with me when I decided to peek in on one of their labs, and a spider bit me. He killed it. We didn’t know right away what it did to me, but I figured it out later that night when I woke up and found myself literally crawling the walls.”

She held out her hand for Tony to see; the smallest set of fang marks still marked her skin when she brushed her feathers back.  He had a feeling they would never fade. 

“I can crawl up walls, I’m super strong, and I have this weird sense for danger.  I can sort of sense when something’s going to hit me, or there’s someone dangerous creeping up behind me. That’s how I knew you were following me.”

“That explains why my drones had such a hard time chasing you down,” Tony mused, tapping his finger on the glass.  “But what about your webbing? That’s pretty advanced stuff. I mean, someone who could get into CIT could make it, but you don’t seem all that enthused about it.”

She laughed, taking a swig of her soda before responding. “Nah, not really.  I mean, science can be fun and all, but I think I’d go crazy sitting in science classes all day.  A dance scholarship is more my style. Or music.” 

“Dance?   _ Music _ ?”  Tony desperately needed to ask Prime Gosalyn about this. Neither of those were things he would have ever associated with a girl who had told him about her dream of going to college on a hockey scholarship when she had been a lot younger. Once she had lost her parents and her grandfather, and gained a superhero for a father, that dream had gone away as soon as she had realized how badly she wanted to follow in his footsteps. Music, she had once mentioned, was something she barely paid attention to anymore; she didn’t know the current hits, or even recent ones, so busy was she.  And dancing! Tony had mentioned it once in relation to a fundraiser he had attended, and she had laughed, admitting to having two left feet and no rhythm. 

“Yeah, what’s wrong with dancing and music?” This Gosalyn’s look of annoyance matched Prime Gosalyn’s exactly, however, different hair cuts aside.  “I’m in a band, you know. We rock.”

“That’s not it, and it’s a really long story that I’d love to tell you after we discuss the reason I’m here in the first place.”

Finally, he had his opening. Setting his glass of water aside, he picked up the briefcase that held his suit and opened up a pocket on the back. He removed several pieces of paper that he slid across the table to her. “So, you’re a hero. But you’ve been a hero on your own. How would you like to join the Duckvengers and be part of the team instead?”

Gosalyn almost spit out a mouthful of soda.  Coughing, she sputtered “what!?”

“Well, I was just thinking--”

“I don’t do teams and I barely do friends!  Friends get hurt, and killed, and you get blamed for it even though it wasn’t your fault!” 

“Wait, back up.  What happened?”

She sniffed, pulling her knees up to her chin, curling in on herself.  “Honk. He was my best friend...and completely jealous of my powers. He felt like I was leaving him behind, that I was special and didn’t have time for him.  So he….he….”

Gosalyn crying was not a sight Tony ever wanted to see again. She wasn’t crying prettily like they did in the movies, with delicate tears and quiet sniffing; she was breaking down into loud sobbing, fat tears soaking her feathers.  He could barely hear her, but as she sobbed, he remembered what she was talking about, having seen it on TV.

A monster had been rampaging through downtown St. Canard while the Duckvengers had been out of the country, chasing Doomslug back to his castle.  The police had been helpless; in fact, they had merely found the body of a young duck after the fact, dead from trauma and from what the news had explained as “a mysterious compound in the duck’s bloodstream.” It had been the first occurance of the Ghost Spider, as the news had dubbed her, and she had popped up on Tony’s radar.  

But now, Gosalyn had even more of the story to tell him. 

Herbert "Honk" Parker had been her best friend since childhood, living next door with his befuddled but kind parents, and his older and slightly sociopathic brother, Tanker. After she had been bitten and started fighting crime, Honk had felt dissatisfied with his spot “in her shadow,” as he had put it.  He was a true genius; he was offered full scholarships to St. Canard University as well as CIT. It was how he was able to create his own version of the venom that the spider had pushed into her veins, the spider that had landed on him first, but he had flung off in fear; unfortunately, he had not replicated it exactly.  

The creature that had rampaged through downtown had been something akin to a hulking mutant cross between a duck and a lizard; the news had called him, lacking imagination, Lizarduck. (Tony had rolled his eyes at that the first time he’d heard it, and he did it this time too.)  Gosalyn had fought him, trying to talk him down first, but he had been too strong and too angry; she had to fight him almost to a standstill in a darkened warehouse where he’d flung her, finally beating him down and forcing him to listen to her. But the fight and the venom had taken its toll, and even though he changed back to himself, the trauma of it all killed him; he died in her arms as she cried, not understanding what had happened to bring them to that moment.  

     “Kid….” Tony sighed, rubbing at his brow. “I can’t say the Duckvengers would never get hurt, but that’s part of the job. We’re a team. We look out for each other.  And kid, I think you need that; you need to be a part of something. You can’t let Honk’s death haunt you forever.”

     “But it’s my fault he’s dead--”

     “No, it’s his fault he tried to replicate something he didn’t understand out of jealousy for his best friend!”  She flinched at that, clearly not wanting to accept it.

      He learned forward, tapping at the papers. “This is paperwork for the Stellar Mallard Scholarship for Stellar Students.  Full ride to any college you want, with the understanding that you’re employed by Mallard Enterprises. What this is is a means of giving you a cover story for knowing me, being gone at all hours, AND it gets you an education. I think your dad would be very happy with it.”

     “How would I be going to school if I’m a hero?  Crime doesn’t sleep,” she pointed out, wiping at her eyes.  

     “Honestly, I could probably teach you more than St. Canard U ever will and CIT will count a lot of your time as my understudy as credit. The only thing holding you back is your fear, kid.”

     She was staring at him now, slumping in her chair.  Slowly she looked down at the papers in front of her, then back up at him. For his part, Tony just took a sip of water, playing it cool; he felt pretty sure she was going to accept.  She  _ needed  _ to accept. He didn’t know what he’d do if she turned him down. 

     Picking up the papers, she asked, “does this mean I can get a new costume?”

 

Gosalyn typed her access code into the keypad, stepping into Tony’s workshop with a sense of calm descending upon her. She could see him sitting at his desk, soldering a large circuit board, perched precariously on his stool as he focused.

“Thought I said I wanted to be alone,” he said, continuing to solder despite her presence.

“I thought you wanted to be updated on how my new weapons worked, but if you don’t want me to tell you, I’m sure one of the others will listen to my stories.”

He froze. MORGANA, without being told, turned off his music. He swiveled his stool around, gaping at her for a second; she was starting to feel a little confused, so she looked down at herself. Her suit was still mostly the same, though she had added a few little extra embellishments here and there. “Did I step in something?”

“Tony, I thought I’d come over early to see how those new and improved web shooters are doi--am I seeing things?”

Gosalyn turned, staring at herself staring at herself, both of them stunned into silence.

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, having become a member of the Duckvengers, was wearing her Spiderwing costume, having traded in her leotard and hooded jacket and badly sewn mask for a proper full body suit with the same colors; a mostly black bodice and legs, with white sleeves, hood, and mask, accented with pink and teal web designs.  Her ballet shoes had been swapped for built in boots as part of the suit, though the bottom of her feet retained the same color as an homage. 

Gosalyn Mallard smiled, all but jumping up and down in glee.  “He found you! That’s great!”

“Yeah.  Hi. I’m Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.  My dad is Captain George Waddlemeyer of the St. Canard Police Department.” She held out her hand, smiling as the other Gosalyn took it.

“I’m Gosalyn Mallard.  My dad is Drake Mallard, the Terror That Flaps in the Night, Darkwing Duck.”

“Nice to meet you, Gosalyn.”

“Great to meet  _ you _ , Gosalyn.”

They laughed, and Tony felt as though some indefinable something he had been missing all of these years since meeting Gosalyn Prime shift into place in his heart. 

He had his Gosalyn.


End file.
